Charles Carson's A Christmas Carol
by chelsie fan
Summary: Charles Carson has become too devoted to his butler's duties, the house in which he works, and propriety in general, to have any concern at all for his fellow man. Can a series of supernatural visits persuade him to alter his ways and to effect his own redemption? (99% spoiler-free; VERY MINOR S4 spoiler involving Molesley and another character; speculation more than anything).
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Disclaimer: I do not own **_**A Christmas Carol**_**, **_**Downton Abbey**_**, or any of the characters in either. I have borrowed shamelessly from Charles Dickens and Julian Fellowes, inserting Mr. Fellowes's characters into Mr. Dickens's plot. I offer both men my heartfelt thanks and grudging apologies ("grudging" because although my conscience tells me I should apologize, I'm not truly sorry and would do it again in a heartbeat!).**

**Many thanks, also, to Chelsie Dagger, a virtual conversation with whom spawned the Ghost of an Idea for this story. She has been extremely encouraging and helped with assigning the roles of the Three Spirits. **

**PREFACE**

I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little story*, to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their house pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

Their faithful Friend and Servant,

chelsie fan

December 2013

CHAPTER 1: CHARLIE'S GHOST

Grigg was dead: to begin with. Old Grigg was dead as a doornail. Carson knew he was dead? Of course he did. Carson and he were partners for I don't know how many years. There is no doubt that Grigg was dead. This must be distinctly understood or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate.

As young men, Carson and Grigg had been partners in a double act, The Cheerful Charlies - a variety act including a little bit of everything: singing, dancing, comedy, juggling, sleight of hand, and other magic. They had toured the halls on the local circuit and had made a modest go of it. After several years of diminishing attendance at their performances and withering income, they had dissolved their stage partnership to pursue careers in service.

They had found their first posts together, as footmen to the Earl of Grantham at Downton Abbey. Hardworking and reliable, they had shown promise, and His Lordship's butler, old Mr Dickens, had been impressed. When the position of butler at a nearby estate, Haxby Park, had become available, Mr Dickens had written a glowing reference for Grigg, who had easily obtained the post and had subsequently left Downton. Carson had stayed on, in the hopes of becoming valet to the Earl, or even securing the proud station of butler one day. And indeed, through perseverance, industriousness, and Mr Dickens's grooming, when the old man had retired, Carson had become butler to Lord Grantham: the most exacting, demanding butler in all of England, it's been said. Grigg, on the other hand, had died penniless in a workhouse, having lost his employment and means of support when Haxby had been sold.

One Christmas Eve, Carson sat busy in his pantry while the sounds of maids and footmen making merry drifted in, uninvited and unwelcome, from the servants' hall. The housekeeper came to his door.

"Merry Christmas, Mr Carson," offered a charming voice with a lilting Scottish cadence. "Would you care to join our little celebration? James is playing the piano, the young ones are singing and dancing, and Mrs Patmore and the girls have laid out quite a feast."

"No, Mrs Hughes, I'll not join you. I'm far too busy. I've not the time for such frivolity. I'm only sorry I ever allowed such foolishness in the first place."

"But surely, you'll not deny the young folk a little bit of revelry on Christmas Eve!"

"I shall indeed! Please see that everyone goes up to bed now. We've an early morning and a busy day tomorrow. The family's festivities must not be compromised. The quality of service in this house must not suffer because the maids and footmen have lost their heads. A little drink and some sentimental talk and they lose all sense!"

"But it's Christmas Eve!"

"What's that got to do with it? The world hasn't stopped turning. There's still work to be done."

"Oh, Mr Carson," she lamented, shaking her head sadly. "I remember a time when you used to enjoy yourself on Christmas. You were livelier and happier than _any_ of us."

"Mrs Hughes, I'll thank you not to remind me of the days of my imprudent and ill-considered youth. Those days are long gone, as you well know. Why do you still invite me to join you every year when you know I'll refuse?"

"One mustn't lose hope, you know. I'm a very determined woman, and I'll not accept defeat even when it's staring me in the face."

"Indeed. Still, I'm not coming. Please send everyone upstairs."

"Oh, very well," she sighed in resignation. "I'll leave you to your work, then. Good night, Mr Carson. Merry Christmas."

"Hmph."

Mrs Hughes closed the door on her way out, and soon the happy noises emanating from the servants' hall diminished as the servants retired. Now Carson heard footsteps and the tapping of a cane, followed by a knock on his door.

"Come!" he snarled impatiently.

The door was opened to reveal Mr Bates and Mr Molesley.

"I've just finished changing His Lordship, and I'll be heading home now. Anna and the children will be waiting," Mr Bates informed him.

"And I'll just be off, too, then, to me Dad's," said Mr Molesley, timidly. "I'm afraid he's not well."

"I suppose you'll both want the whole day tomorrow?" Carson asked.

"If it can be arranged, Mr Carson," said Mr Bates.

"If I can be spared," Mr Molesley added.

"It can't be arranged, and you can't be spared! It's unjust. His Lordship does not fail to pay your wages on Christmas Day, and yet he has no one to attend to him. Why should he pay you if he's got to dress and serve himself? If His Lordship were to withhold your wages for a day, you'd think yourself cheated. And yet, you don't think _him_ cheated when he pays you a day's wages for no work."

Mr Bates looked stoically ahead, but Mr Molesley made so bold as to remind him, "It's only once a year, Mr Carson."

"That hardly justifies thievery every twenty-fifth of December! I suppose you must have the whole day, but be here all the earlier the next morning!"

"Yes, Mr Carson," both men answered.

"We will," said Mr Bates.

"Merry Chr- ," began Mr Molesley, before he was silenced by an icy glare.

"Yes, yes! Be off with you, then, before I regret my liberality!" finished Carson.

The two men hurried off joyfully. Everyone else having departed, the downstairs was now silent.

Carson finished totting up the figures in his ledger, closed it, and set it aside. He rose and crossed the room to finish polishing a few odd pieces of silver. As he rubbed the polish off a large serving spoon and inspected it, expecting to see his own inverted reflection staring back at him, the deep bowl of the spoon took on a peculiar aspect. In it, he saw, plain as day, the face of his old partner, Charlie Grigg. There was no reason this should be so; Carson was not a man given to fancy, nor had he drunk any of the wine or beer which the young footmen had enjoyed earlier, nor could he remember the last time he had even spared Grigg a passing thought. Yet it happened just so; the face stared straight ahead, not _at_ him, but _through_ him. Though devoid of expression, it did not appear pale or ghastly; in fact, it looked exactly the same as Grigg's face had looked when Carson last had seen him. Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the spectral countenance vanished, leaving him badly shaken. He turned the spoon this way and that, examining it cautiously but thoroughly. Once satisfied that the spoon was an ordinary piece of silver again, he locked it away with the rest of the serving ware.

Carson sat down in his armchair to collect himself and was nearly able to persuade himself that he had imagined the entire event. Deciding he should complete his final checks for the night and then retire, he opened his pantry door, walked out into the corridor, and began to check the downstairs rooms – Mrs Hughes's sitting room, store cupboard, kitchen … But when he got to the servants' hall, a curious thing transpired: all the bells on the board began to ring simultaneously. The cacophony was deafening. Terrified, Carson fled to his pantry, slammed the door, and locked it. He deposited himself roughly in his chair and covered his ears, but he couldn't block out the din. When finally, after what seemed a very long time, the clamour faded, it was replaced by a sound far more eerie: that of chains being dragged across a stone floor. The clanking noise seemed to be drawing nearer. Carson watched his door in horror, as a ghostly image of Grigg materialized through the wood. Though transparent, he appeared much as he had in life, dressed in his full butler's livery. The striking facet of his appearance, however, was the chain wrapped around his middle and dragging behind him. Carson observed it closely and noticed it consisted of ledgers, rulers, corkscrews, wine bottles, and silver serving pieces.

"Charlie!" cried Carson, cowering and cringing. "What do you want with me?"

"Hello, Charlie," the Ghost greeted him. "We have much to talk about. Will you offer me a seat, or shall I stand?"

"Sit down then, if you can," said Carson, pointing to another chair. Carson was reluctant to prolong the visit, but Grigg – or his image – did sit.

"You don't believe in me," observed the Ghost.

"I don't."

"Why do you doubt your senses?"

"Because a little thing affects them - makes them cheats."

The truth was that Carson _did_ believe in him, and he was fearful.

Suddenly, the spirit raised a frightful cry and shook its chain with an appalling noise. Carson fell to his knees and covered his face.

"Have pity!" he said. "Why must you trouble me?"

"Do you believe in me or not?" demanded the Ghost.

"I do. I must," Carson said, shaking. "But why are you here?"

"Every man's spirit must walk among his fellow men, and travel far and wide. He must look outside himself. If his spirit refuses to go forth in life, it must do so after death. It must wander the earth and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared and turned to happiness."

Again the spectre raised a cry, shook its chains, and wrung its hands.

"Why are you bound?" asked Carson, still trembling.

"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the phantom. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; my bond is of my own making. Does it look so strange to you? You bear yourself a chain longer and heavier than mine!"

Carson glanced about himself on the floor, expecting to see the shackle and bindings the spirit had just described, but he could see nothing.

"Charlie," implored Carson. "Tell me more. Offer me some hope, some consolation."

"I've none to give," the spectre replied. "Any comfort you receive must come from others. I can't tell you as much as I'd like. I cannot stay or rest anywhere. In life, my spirit never walked beyond Haxby; in fact, I hardly left my own pantry. Now I have many long and weary journeys ahead."

The Ghost set up another cry and clanked its chain so hideously in the dead silence that Carson was amazed everyone in the house didn't wake.

"I overlooked and misunderstood so many things during my life!" cried the phantom, regretfully. "I wish I had known! If only I could make amends now! But it's too late. A lifetime is too short for a man, working generously in his own little corner, to do all the good he's capable of! No amount of regret can bring back wasted chances."

"But, Charlie … You were always so devoted to your work!"

"My work!" scoffed the spirit. "Much good my 'work' has done me. The table was set perfectly, the silver immaculate, and the wine selection impeccable. The house ran flawlessly. But I ignored the lonely footmen, the sickly valet, the overworked maids, and the weary housekeeper. I failed to bring happiness to others, and no one aided me in my hour of need. I died penniless and friendless. Now I suffer this fate."

The spectre shook its chains once again and cried, "Listen carefully, now. My time is nearly gone."

"I will, Charlie," promised Carson. "But don't be too hard on me. Please!"

"I'm here tonight to tell you that you still have a chance. There's hope yet. You'll be haunted tonight be Three Spirits."

Carson's face fell, as he said, "If that's the only chance or hope, I think I'd rather not."

"Unless they visit, you'll be doomed to carry your burden forever. Expect the first Spirit at the sound of the gong. The second and third will follow. You'll not see me again. Mark what I've said, Charlie."

And with that, the apparition turned and walked once again through Carson's pantry door, which remained securely locked.

Needless to say, Carson had been very unsettled by the whole exchange. Part of him would have liked to think he imagined the whole encounter; another part wanted to believe it genuine. While the Ghost's pronouncements had been dire, he'd also offered comfort. Carson was extremely displeased that his only hope of reformation lay in the hands of three more supernatural visitors, but he was willing to endure these meetings for the sake of his own welfare. So he banked the fire, closed up his pantry, and retired to his bedroom in the attic. He washed up, changed into his nightclothes, and got into bed. He wondered briefly whether it would be more prudent to sleep or to lie awake and wait for his nocturnal guests, but the choice was taken from him when fatigue prevailed, and sleep claimed him.

**A/N And there you have the first installment of "CCCC." You can expect another chapter every morning (US time) for the next four days, ending on Christmas morning. Thank you for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. If you like it, please leave a review here and/or leave a comment and reblog my link on tumblr. Your support means the world to me.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Thank you for the warm reception for Chapter 1. I'm overwhelmed by all your kind comments! It seems some of you are enjoying reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I'm glad. That's my intention.**

**Minor Spoiler Alert: The end of this chapter does contain some vague connection and reference to events in Series 4. I don't think it will really "spoil" anything for anyone who's trying to avoid information about the new series, but I do feel I should warn you, just in case.**

CHAPTER 2: THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS

Carson woke a short time later in his bed to the ringing of a gong. Before him appeared a phantom – a phantom who looked remarkably like the young and vibrant Lady Rose MacClare, except for a shimmering quality she had about her that quite unnerved him. She was wearing a long, white summer dress and had flowers in her braided hair. The apparition laughed, and when she spoke, her voice matched Lady Rose's, as well.

"Hello, Carson!" she greeted him cheerfully.

"Milady! _You_ are the Spirit Grigg spoke of?" Carson asked in disbelief.

"I am," answered the Ghost. "The Ghost of Christmas Past – _your_ past."

"What are your intentions for me?"

"Take my hand, and come with me."

Not being in a position to resist, Carson obeyed.

"Where are we going?" he asked, as they passed through a wall of cloud.

The haze dissipated, to reveal the outside of a small theatre, decorated for Christmas. A poster on a sign board advertised "The Cheerful Charlies."

"Do you know this place, Carson?" the Spirit queried.

"Of course I do! It's the theatre where Charlie Grigg and I used to perform!" replied Carson, both excited and nostalgic.

The Ghost led him inside. The lobby was modest, but decorated extravagantly for the holiday. As they entered the main auditorium, Carson's lip began to tremble, and his eyes started to sting.

"These are shadows of things that have been; they cannot see nor hear us," his guide informed him.

Carson watched intently as his younger self and a young Charlie Grigg and took the stage. The two began tossing clubs in the air, juggling while walking around, adding more and more clubs, and finally standing still, facing each other in the centre of the stage. As they began tossing the clubs back and forth between them, the clubs rained down in a mesmerising cascade, only to be thrown back up again, higher and faster. The audience erupted into applause.

Next was a comedy act, a bit of humour at which the audience roared loudly. Then came a song and dance number, which was also well-received. Last was a magic act in which objects were made to disappear, reappear, levitate, move about of their own accord, and even change form. When, for the grand finale, Grigg pretended to eat a mouse, only to have Carson find that same mouse under the hat of a hapless and hysterical woman in the front row, the crowd rose to their feet and cheered enthusiastically.

The stage, the performers, and the audience all vanished, and in their place now was a tavern. The Ghost directed old Carson's attention to a table where sat young Carson, young Grigg, and some others from the theatre. It was Christmas Eve, and they were celebrating after the show. There was much talking, laughing, and general merriment. Old Carson's eyes were drawn to his former self and Grigg, as they raised their glasses in a toast:

"Merry Christmas, Charlie!"

"And a very Merry Christmas to _you_, Charlie!"

The two spectators watched the scene a moment longer.

"I had forgotten what good times those were," remarked Carson.

"You were young and carefree," observed the Spirit.

"It seems a lifetime ago …" Carson admitted.

"Let's see another Christmas!" giggled the Ghost of Christmas Past.

A small, sad smile played about Carson's lips as the vision faded, and a new one replaced it. This time, they were back at Downton Abbey, in the servants' hall. It was Christmas Eve again, several years later. On the table was enough food to feed a small army, and Charlie Grigg played a violin while the other servants danced and sang. The merriest of all was the old butler, Mr Dickens. He danced about gaily, spinning first the housekeeper and then the cook, one after the other, until they were both dizzy and breathless with laughter. He was two or even three times the age of the maids and footmen, yet the old man had more vim and vigour than the lot of them put together. To observe him, one would have thought him drunk, but the truth was that the old butler's extreme good cheer arose from the spirit of the holiday and not from any alcoholic spirit.

"Old Mr Dickens!" Carson marvelled, shaking his head appreciatively and smiling. "A prince of a man if ever there was one! Had more nobility in his little finger than most of the members of the upper classes could ever hope to possess."

"And yet, here he was, allowing young men and women to frolic together with reckless abandon! And dancing himself like a man gone mad! He must have had no sense of propriety," challenged the Ghost.

"Oh, it was never like that. It was all innocent entertainment, and all very proper. That man could warm and brighten a room with just his presence! Look how happy he makes ev-" Carson stopped short as realisation dawned. He wished he had taken any one of a number of opportunities to spread a little cheer himself.

"I love to dance!" said the Spirit excitedly, swaying in time with you music, "Don't you?"

"I'm afraid I don't have much opportunity anymore."

"Oh, Carson! You _have_ _**plenty**_ of opportunity, I think. You just never _take_ that opportunity."

Carson could only answer with a resigned look and a sigh.

His gaze now fell upon his younger self, dancing with a very attractive housemaid. His supernatural companion followed his eyes and asked, even though she knew full well, "Who is that beautiful young woman?"

"Why, it's Mrs Hughes, of course!" Carson answered excitedly. "Or, _Elsie_, as she was called then," he amended wistfully. "This would have been just after her arrival; she'd been at Downton only a short time at this point."

"She was very pretty. It seems you were smitten," teased the Spirit playfully.

"I was quite taken with her. She was lovely … _is_ lovely still today … " he replied honestly.

Carson and the Ghost watched the couple as young Charlie manoeuvred his dance partner away from the crowd and into a doorway in which hung a sprig of mistletoe.

"Charlie!" Elsie giggled and squirmed as he pulled her closer and tried to kiss her cheek. "We're missing the party! They're about to start the games."

"Oh, Elsie," he pleaded. "You're so beautiful! Just one kiss. Please? I promise I'll be a gentleman."

"If I let you kiss me - just this once, mind you! – do you promise we can go back and enjoy the rest of the party?"

"On my word of honour!"

"Hmmmm," she considered, pretending to be doubtful, and then continued, "Very well, then. You may kiss me."

Charlie gently settled his hands on Elsie's hips and drew her ever so slowly nearer. She rested her hands on his shoulders. He leaned in, and as she closed her eyes, he softly and reverently kissed her cheek. She smiled and raised her hand to stroke his face.

"Thank you, Charlie," she said quietly. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Elsie! And thank _you_!" he returned. "The pleasure was entirely mine."

Elsie lifted herself up on her toes, balanced herself with her hands on Charlie's chest, and planted a deliberately noisy kiss squarely on his lips. Then she turned and skipped away back to the festivities; Charlie just stood there, his initial look of surprise quickly melting into a lovesick grin.

Carson's older self stood observing the scene with the phantom, tears trickling down his face.

Next, the Spirit conducted Carson to the servants' courtyard outside Downton Abbey, where Elsie stood with a figure in a long robe.

"Wherever did you find _this_?" asked an amused Elsie, as she helped Charlie make some final adjustments.

He was wearing a Father Christmas costume, a flowing crimson robe with a hood, trimmed with white fur, a white wig, and a long white beard. He carried a matching crimson sack.

"In the attics," answered Charlie. "You've no idea the sorts of things you can find there."

"You don't say … Tell me again what you intend to do."

"Well, I've already spoken to His Lordship and Mr Dickens. As soon as the family goes through to the drawing room after dinner, I'll surprise the young ladies."

"You mean _frighten_ them!" teased Elsie.

"Do I frighten _you_?" asked Charlie, pulling her close.

"No. But I'm a very brave woman, not a little girl."

Wrapping her arms around him, she kissed him through the beard, laughing when it tickled her lips.

"Let's go inside," she said. "It's cold, and it's getting late. It must be nearly time for Father Christmas to make his appearance."

She led him in the back door. Inside the house, Mr Dickens was just coming down the stairs.

"There you are!" he said. "They'll be going through in a minute. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Mr Dickens," Charlie replied.

"Good. Then go upstairs, hide yourself in the alcove, and wait until I call you."

"Mr Dickens, some of the staff would very much like to see this. Would it be all right if we watched from the hall?" asked Elsie.

"I don't see why not," the old butler answered jovially.

The Ghost and Carson were then transported to the drawing room, where the family were relaxing after their meal. Lord and Lady Grantham sat together on a settee, and the Dowager Countess perched herself on an armchair. The three young ladies sat playing on the floor, all talking excitedly. Soon Mr Dickens stood at the door and cleared his throat.

"Milord, there's a gentleman here to see you. He says he has urgent business."

The girls stopped chattering and looked up inquisitively at the butler's news.

"You don't say!" Lord Grantham played along. "Who could be out in such weather? And on Christmas Eve, no less! Well, do send the poor chap in to warm himself up!"

"Very good, Milord."

The butler stepped out into the hallway, only to reappear momentarily.

"Father Christmas, Milord," he announced very formally.

The girls squealed in delight as Charlie entered the room, laughing merrily. He walked to the centre of the rug in front of the fireplace where the girls had been playing and set down his sack. Then he sat down on the edge of an ottoman and told the girls a story while they sat at his feet, enthralled. Finally, he pulled out a small gift for each of them, warned them to be good girls, and informed them that he had to be on his way. When he rose to leave, Miss Sybil tugged at his leg, Miss Edith pulled his robe, and young Lady Mary entreated him to stay just a bit longer. Father Christmas explained that other children were expecting him, and he really must be going. Patting them each on the head, he wished everyone a very Merry Christmas and took his leave. His Lordship and Her Ladyship looked nearly as pleased as their daughters, and even the Dowager's lips turned up slightly.

The butler and footmen had watched the scene from the corners of the room (Charlie Grigg had barely been able to keep a straight face), while the housekeeper, cook, and various maids had been looking on from the doorway. Every face wore a wide smile.

In an instant, Carson and the Spirit were back in the courtyard, watching young Charlie and Elsie again. Elsie helped Charlie off with the robe, wig, and beard, and placed them on a nearby crate.

"You were marvellous, Charlie!" Elsie praised him. "If I hadn't known better, I would have believed in you myself!"

"But you _do_ believe in me, Elsie, don't you?" Charlie asked seriously, taking both her hands and looking earnestly into her eyes.

"I do," she answered simply.

"Good," he said, smiling sweetly at her. "Will you walk with me for a bit? I know it's cold, but I'll hold you close to keep you warm."

"I'm never cold when I'm with you," she assured him, smiling.

He returned her smile, kissed her cheek, offered her his arm, and led her out onto the lawns. They walked to a little pond on the grounds and stood side by side, holding hands and admiring the moon's reflection in the water. Frost covered the ground, and little puffs of condensation formed in the cold night air every time they exhaled. Charlie moved to stand in front of Elsie, took both her hands in his, and lowered himself down on his right knee. He pulled something from his pocket and said, "Marry me, Elsie. I love you."

"Oh, Charlie!" she cried, tears forming in her eyes and her voice cracking. "Yes, of course I'll marry you! I love you, too!"

He beamed at her, slipped a small, plain ring onto her finger, stood, and pulled her into his arms for an exuberant kiss. Soon they were laughing with sheer joy. When they finally calmed, Charlie spoke again.

"It's only a shilling ring, but someday I'll give you a better one. We'll put by our wages, and soon we'll be able to leave here and buy a shop. We'll live above it, and we'll have so many children we'll lose count. We may never be well-off, but we'll have each other, and I promise always to take care of you. As long as I have you, I need nothing else; my happiness will be complete," he declared passionately.

In response to his endearing words, Elsie wrapped her arms tightly around Charlie's neck and pulled him close. She rested her head on his chest, and he nuzzled his chin in her hair.

As the courtyard and the young lovers faded from sight, the Ghost of Christmas Past turned to Carson. The old man sniffled softly.

"Are we nearly done?" pleaded Carson. "I don't think I can bear much more."

"Not quite yet," the apparition answered gently. "I'm afraid there's more to see."

"And _I'm_ afraid I know what's coming, and I dread it!"

"Your happiness didn't last… "

The events unfolding before Carson now involved the same characters in the same location. An excited young Charlie was pulling Elsie by the hand to the same spot by the pond. On this night, though, the ground was covered with snow, and more flakes were falling from the sky.

"Charlie!" giggled the beautiful Scottish maid as they come to a stop. "What is it? What's got you so excited?"

"I have news, Elsie. Good news. Mr Dickens has told me he's going to retire, and he'll recommend _me_ to His Lordship as his replacement!"

Charlie was clearly thrilled, but Elsie's face fell.

"So … you'd be butler … " she said, somewhere between a statement and a question. "_Mr_ Carson."

"Yes! Isn't it exciting?"

"But we were going to be married."

"We'll still be married someday. I've made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it."

"But how can we be married if you're butler? We can't stay here. We were going to leave service and open a shop," she reminded him.

"And we still shall. This is just for a little while. It will mean more money. We can save more, I can buy you a proper ring, and we can buy a bigger shop."

"We've already put by more than enough. We've been frugal. Our savings are sufficient. I don't know why we've waited even _this_ long."

"Please, Elsie!" implored the ambitious young footman. "Just a little longer. Be patient with me. I'd feel more comfortable if we were in a more secure position starting out. God willing, when children come, you'll not be working as you are now, and I'll have a family to support."

"You've changed, Charlie," Elsie sighed and shook her head sadly. "You're not that carefree, eager young lad who stole my heart when I first arrived. You're ambitious, calculating, and much too cautious."

"I haven't changed! Perhaps _the world_ has changed. It's difficult to get by now. Owning a small shop is risky. There's no guarantee of success. A larger, more established shop would be safer. Until we can afford that, we'll continue on here, in service. Working in service is respectable. It's hard work, but it's a reliable situation. Charlie Grigg has gone on to be butler at Haxby and has done very well for himself. I'll be butler here, and I'll wager you'll be housekeeper soon. Mrs Dilber isn't going to stay on forever. I'm only asking that we wait a bit longer. With our combined savings, in a few years, we could start out in more favourable circumstances."

"No. I'm sorry. I'll not wait any longer. I'm tired of waiting. If we don't have what we need now, we never will have it."

Elsie took off the ring and placed it in his hand, closing his fingers over it.

"I release you from your promise and our understanding."

Tears filled her eyes as she reached up to kiss his cheek, whispering, "Good-bye, Charlie."

When she pulled away, she added, in a sturdier tone, "I wish you every happiness and success, Mr Carson."

And she walked back to the house, leaving Charlie standing in the snow.

Old Carson turned away. He could endure it no longer. He was now weeping openly.

"Please, Milady!" he begged the Spirit. "Torture me no more!"

"I'm sorry, Carson, but my task is not yet finished," the Ghost said sympathetically. "You must see all these things before we return. Otherwise, no good can come of our journeys tonight."

"Lead on, then, if you must," he conceded, resigned to his immediate fate.

The Ghost now ushered Carson into his own pantry, where Carson saw a more recent version of himself, from just a few years prior. He stood near his desk, reading a letter. Mrs Hughes walked in just as he crumpled it up and threw it into his rubbish bin.

"Mr Carson?" inquired Mrs Hughes tentatively.

"Oh. Mrs Hughes. How can I help you?"

"I just came to ask you to join the celebration in the servants' hall, though you'll surely decline, claiming to have some pressing business."

"Quite right. I'm occupied at the moment and will be for some time."

"Of course. Still, I can't help inviting you, anyway."

She paused for a moment.

"Are you all right, Mr Carson? Only, you seemed rather upset when I came in a minute ago. Have you had bad news?"

"Bad news? No. Nothing of the sort. I was just thinking of everything that needs to be done before tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me … "

He left her in his pantry, bustling off to tend to some important matter. She immediately went to his trash can, removed the letter, and read it. Her mouth fell open. At that moment, Mr Carson returned. He didn't immediately see what she was holding, since her back was turned to him.

"Mrs Hughes. I didn't think you'd still be here. I've forgotten my - "

Mrs Hughes turned around, holding the letter.

"It's Charlie!" she cried. "I mean, Mr Grigg. He's in a workhouse."

"Yes, well, when the Russells sold Haxby - "

"He's dying!"

"What concern is that of mine?"

"He's asked to see you, Mr Carson! Aren't you going to go?"

"Certainly not! I couldn't possibly get away in the midst of the family's Christmas activities. Perhaps on my half-day, if he's still - "

"Oh, he'll try and hold out till then, I'm sure! Well, I'm going to see him _now_."

"But, Mrs Hughes! What about all your work? We're so busy right now. It's Christmas Eve! You're needed here."

"My work can wait. I'm needed _there_. Good-bye, Mr Carson."

And she strode from his pantry with a purposeful gait.

Carson and the Ghost now stood in near darkness, only a faint light emanating from the Spirit herself.

"But you never did go to see him. Did you?" asked the Ghost of Christmas Past. "Mrs Hughes visited him, and he died that very night. By the time your half-day came, it was too late."

"Please, Milady. No more! Take me back. Put an end to this agonizing journey!"

"As you wish, Carson. My work here is done. Expect another visitor when the gong sounds again."

The Spirit disappeared, and Carson found himself back in his bed, exhausted. Before he could register another thought, he fell sound asleep again.

**A/N Please review. Please? Your thoughts and ideas make me SOOO happy!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N I apologize for the late post today. Christmas preparations have kept me busy. I hope you're enjoying reading this little story as much as I'm enjoying writing it. Thank you for all the kind reviews. Please keep them coming.**

**Some of you asked why I chose Lady Rose as the Ghost of Christmas Past. I wanted someone who would remind Carson of his youthful exuberance and carefree spirit, and you'll have to admit: no one has fewer inhibitions than Lady Rose!**

**I owe much gratitude to Chelsie Dagger for convincing me to use Robert as the Ghost of Christmas Present. I don't especially like him, and didn't relish the thought of writing about him, but he really does embody a spirit of blissful ignorance and living in the moment.**

CHAPTER 2: THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS

Carson awakened once again to the sound of a gong, and as he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but a strange glow coming from underneath his door. He waited to see what would happen, to see if the next Spirit would show itself. After several minutes of silence and inactivity, with only the unusual light streaming under the door, Carson could wait no longer. Thinking that the source of the light must be his next visitor, he got up to investigate. Upon opening his door, he saw no one, but the radiance seemed to be coming from down the corridor, so he walked in that direction. When he got to the stairs at the corner, the light seemed now to be emanating from the bottom of the staircase. He followed the glow throughout the house in this manner until he came to the dining room where he stopped at the doorway and marvelled at what he saw inside.

The table was heaped with such a bounteous feast as Carson had never seen, and the room was decorated so lavishly he could scarcely take it all in. Even the formidable duo of Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes would be hard pressed to produce a banquet with trimmings and trappings of this quality and to adorn a room so sumptuously. At the head of the table sat a Spirit wearing a green robe trimmed with white fur and a holly wreath atop its head. The figure was bearded, but otherwise he bore an uncanny resemblance to Lord Grantham.

"Come in!" exclaimed the Ghost. "Come in, and know me better, Carson!"

"Milord!" Carson greeted the apparition.

"I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. You've never seen the like of me before!" the Spirit exclaimed.

"Not very like, Milord; no," Carson responded.

"You know why I'm here, Carson, or rather why _you're_ here."

"I do, Milord. Conduct me where you will. I went forth last night on compulsion, and I learnt a lesson which has had it effect. Tonight, if you have anything to teach me, let me profit by it."

"Touch my robe!"

Carson did as he was told. The dining room and everything in it fell away around them, and they found themselves in the middle of the Bates's home. The cottage was a beehive of activity. A swarm of children buzzed about in an eager frenzy.

"Oh, I wish your father were here! I wonder what's keeping him," said Mrs Bates to the two oldest girls, who were gathered around the table, helping her with some cooking preparations.

"He's always late these days," observed one of the girls.

"Don't worry, Mum!" cried a young boy who was looking out the window. "I see him coming up the path now!"

All the children rushed to the door to greet their father.

Mr Bates had barely closed the door behind him when he was nearly knocked over by the exuberant greetings of his children.

"Hello, my little ones!"

He put away his hat and coat and set aside his cane to pick up a tot who was clinging to his knees. Then he hugged and kissed the others in turn and then went to his wife at the table, still holding the little child.

"Hello, my Darling. How are you feeling today?" he asked, kissing her cheek and rubbing her protruding belly.

"A little tired, if I'm honest, but otherwise well," she answered. "And how are you? They've kept you very late again tonight."

"I actually finished up with His Lordship rather early, but Mr Carson asked me to stay to help with some odds and ends. I could hardly say no."

"And has Mr Carson given you the day tomorrow?"

"He has. It's the same every year. He always grumbles and complains, but in the end, he finally agrees."

Mr Bates slumped unceremoniously into a chair at the table and situated the little one on his lap.

"You look tired, Love," Mrs Bates remarked.

"Oh, it's nothing. Leg's a bit stiff from the cold. That's all."

"Are you sure? It seems to be getting worse, especially since Mr Carson's been giving you so much extra work. I don't see why he assigns you all those extra tasks on top of your valet's duties. It's not fair. We hardly see you anymore. The children need to spend time with their father."

"I know, Love. I don't like it, either, but what am I to do? As long as I'm at Downton, I must do as Mr Carson says. I'm not likely to find other employment."

A boy came running up to Mr Bates and started speaking excitedly.

"Da! Da! I was the best sheep in the pageant tonight!"

"That's wonderful, Son! I'm sure you were. I wish I could have seen you. I'm sorry I had to miss it."

"And I lost another tooth!" squealed a little girl, grinning at him to show off the empty space.

"So you did! When did _that _happen, Love?"

"Last week, I think. I couldn't wait to show you! The new one is already growing in."

"And that Freddie Moorsum is spending a lot of time talking with May," shouted a boy from across the room.

"Is that so?" asked Mr Bates raising his eyebrow and looking first to his daughter and then to his wife. "And just how long has this been going on?"

"Oh, for ages!" his son informed him. "They'll be married soon, I think."

"Oh, Johnnie, stop!" pleaded May.

"Why have I not heard of this sooner? I'm always the last to know! I suppose I'm missing out on a lot," Mr Bates lamented, ruefully shaking his head. But soon he recovered his cheerfulness and continued, "All right, then. Enough talk. Let's sit down and have some of this tart and cider. It smells delicious."

The scene faded, and Carson now looked about him to see Mr Molesley and his father sitting by a fire. Mr Molesley sat in an armchair, and his father sat in rocking chair, covered by two blankets. Each was holding a drink, and they raised their glasses and touched them together.

"Merry, Christmas, Dad!"

"Merry, Christmas, Son!"

Father and son sipped their drinks in silence. Finally, Mr Molesley, Senior, spoke.

"Work up there at the big house must be very busy. I haven't seen you much since you've been there. But I'm glad you're able to spend Christmas with me. I get lonely since your Mum died."

"I know, Dad. I miss her, too."

"You're all I've got left now."

"We've got each other," said the younger man, smiling.

"Aye. We've got each other. But I won't be around forever, you know."

As if to underscore his words, the older man was seized with a coughing fit, which seemed to greatly upset his son.

"You'll be well again soon, Dad. I'm sure you'll get better," the son tried to reassure him.

"Do you ever get lonely, Lad? Do you sometimes wish for friends your own age? Outside the Abbey, I mean."

"I hardly ever get away from the house. But, as a matter of fact, there is a woman … a new lady's maid. She's been kind to me, and I'm fond of her, too, but … Well, with so much work, it's hard to pursue anything. Mr Carson won't even let the servants go to a show. What am I to say? "Would you like to polish this silver with me?" or "Shall I help you mend Her Ladyship's underthings? I still don't understand how Mr and Mrs Bates were ever able to conduct any kind of courtship."

"I see your difficulty."

"Oh, maybe Mr Carson's right. I should be grateful for my position and concentrate on advancing, instead of mooning over a pretty girl."

"Nay, Lad! Nay! Your profession is something to be proud of, yes, but work will never make you as happy as people will. If she's as sweet as you say, then you must find the opportunity to court her. If I hadn't gone out of my way to win your dear mother's heart, you wouldn't be here. It wasn't easy, and we both made our share of sacrifices, but in the end, I wouldn't have it any other way. So go and sweep that lady off her feet."

"Lady's _maid_, Dad."

"Nay, Son. _Lady_. Remember that."

Mr Molesley, Senior, began to cough violently again, and his son rose to give him some water and to arrange his blankets.

Carson looked on in sympathy.

"There's no question Old Mr Molesley's days are numbered. The question is how he will spend those remaining days … " commented the Ghost of Christmas Present. "But we've more to see now. Turn and look."

Carson turned and saw that they were now in the nursery at Downton Abbey. Young Miss Sybbie and little Master George were playing on the floor with some blocks, and Mr Branson and Lady Mary sat in two chairs watching their children.

"Poor little Dears!" Lady Mary said.

"So young to have already lost a parent," Mr Branson added. "And everyone around them always so grave! It can't be a very happy Christmas for them with the whole house so gloomy."

"Christmas wasn't like this when I was young; it was a happy time. Singing, dancing, laughing! Everyone was so joyful. There was reason to celebrate. Did Sybil ever tell you that Carson actually used to dress up as Father Christmas for us girls?"

"No! He didn't! I certainly can't see him doing that now."

"But he did! He really did! The first few times I was completely taken in and thrilled beyond words. As I got older, though, I figured it out, of course, but I still pretended not to know. Pretending was much more fun than facing cruel, harsh reality. I only wish I could indulge myself in that make-believe world now. Look at the glum atmosphere our children are faced with. So little to cheer them."

"I must say," admitted Mr Branson, "even my own childhood Christmases were merrier than this. We didn't have much money, but my parents had each other, and they had us children, and that was enough."

"I suppose you're right. It's not all as awful as it seems. You had Sybil, and I had Matthew, and we should feel blessed for even the short time we had with them and for the children they've given us."

"That's the spirit."

Both smiled slightly, and though they looked happier after their little talk, their smiles were still somewhat forced. There remained a shadow that could not be fully dispelled.

"Now let's see the servants' hall!" cried the Spirit.

Presently Carson observed his staff engaged in joyful celebration.

James played the piano, while Mr Barrow danced with Ivy and Alfred with Daisy. Mrs Patmore and Miss Baxter sat in chairs by the fire.

"Well, I'm glad Mr Carson is allowing us this much, at least. Last year, he sent us to bed even earlier, and there was no wine!" remarked Ivy.

"Oh, yes. The old man has really splurged this year, allowing an extra hour and one glass of wine apiece. His kindness brings a tear to my eye," Mr Barrow quipped, his trademark sarcasm at its finest.

Alfred and Daisy danced less gracefully than Mr Barrow and Ivy, but their festive Christmas Spirit amply compensated for anything they may have in they lacked in coordination or style.

"Mrs Patmore told me that when Mr Carson was a young footman, he was the jolliest of the whole lot on Christmas Eve! He led all the carols – had quite a voice at one time, she said. Danced with every woman who was willing -was even kind to the less popular girls. Used to put on a bit of a show, she told me – magic and juggling, card tricks, and the like."

Alfred stopped dancing and gaped, open-mouthed.

"I'll never believe it!" he exclaimed.

"Believe what you like. That's what Mrs Patmore said. It's all changed, now he's butler, but even Mr Carson was young and carefree once."

Miss Baxter and Mrs Patmore sat near the fire, sipping their wine.

"Don't you like dancing, Miss Baxter?" asked the cook.

"Oh, I don't _mind_ dancing," said the lady's maid pensively. "It's just … Well, the trick is to find the right partner. If you're not dancing with the proper person, it's hardly worth the trouble, I'd say."

Just then, Mrs Hughes entered and said, "All right, everyone. Time for bed. Strighten up and go to your rooms. Mr Carson will be along shortly, and you'll not want him to find you still downstairs."

A disappointed murmur of, "Yes, Mrs Hughes," spread throughout the room, and with that the party was over.

"See here!" exclaimed the spectre. "Three dances, one drink, and off to bed! Hardly like one of Mr Dickens's gatherings, was it? Those celebrations lasted all night!"

Carson's head and shoulders drooped in shame. The phantom bade him follow Mrs Hughes into her sitting room. On her way, she stopped in a doorway and looked thoughtful. It was the very doorway where he had first kissed her all those years ago. She reached up and used the keys she always carried to snip a small sprig of mistletoe. Then she walked slowly to her parlour, twirling the plant between her fingers. Once inside, she donned her coat and scarf and put the mistletoe in her pocket. Then she set out towards the back door, stopping briefly at the closed door to the butler's pantry, and Carson and his ethereal guide followed her still. She led them (unknowingly, of course) to that same spot by the pond where their two former selves had reached and then later dissolved their fragile understanding. Mrs Hughes's lip began to tremble, and she sobbed quietly, "Oh, Charlie!" Carson was overcome and called, "Elsie!" He ran to her, tried to touch her and embrace her, but his hands passed right through her body. He could only stand next to her helplessly and weep.

After he knew not how many agonising minutes, all turned to black, and the Spirit transported Carson back to his bedroom.

"I have but one more vision to show you, Carson."

"Please Milord! I've seen enough for one night!"

The Spirit pulled open his robe to reveal a frightened Miss Sybbie and a crying Master George, crouching on the floor at his feet.

"These children grow up in a world in which much happiness has already been taken from them. We must take care to foster what little is left. They have the capacity for great joy, if only the atmosphere around them inspires it. Your downstairs charges are much the same. Many of them are in difficult circumstances, but they too are capable of abundant happiness; they require only the slightest encouragement and some occasional assistance. Remember well all you have learned tonight, Carson. Let my efforts not be in vain."

The Ghost of Christmas Past closed his robe with a flourish and vanished, and Carson found himself once more asleep in his bed.

**A/N I'm trying desperately to finish Chapters 4 and 5 in time for Christmas Eve and Christmas, but it may take a Christmas miracle. I know that all you Chelsie shippers believe in miracles, so please send up some prayers! (On a more secular level, reviews and encouragement will help also.)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N I can't tell you how disappointed I am that I failed to finish this in time for Christmas. It's pretty anti-climactic now. Sort of like an after–Christmas sale. I hope the delay doesn't diminish your enjoyment, and I hope you're all still in the mood to read a Christmas story after the fact. Final chapter – and happy ending - coming soon.**

**I hope everyone had a blessed and joyous Christmas. Thank you for your continued support.**

CHAPTER 4: THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS

Carson woke for the third time that night to the sound of a resonating gong. In the middle of his room stood a figure dressed in mourning clothes, a black hat, and a long black cloak, and holding a walking stick. Upon recognising the Spirit's likeness to be that of that of the Dowager Countess, Carson cried in surprise, "Milady! _You_ are my final visitor?"

"You were expecting perhaps Father Christmas?" she answered. Apparently, the Ghost possessed not only the Dowager's appearance, but also her biting wit. "No, _his_ work is done, but mine is only beginning. I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come, and my charge is to show you visions of events which have not yet transpired, but shall come to pass in future."

"Milady, I fear you more than any spectre I have yet seen. But since I know that your concern is for my welfare, lead on, and I shall follow, for the sake of my own profit, if for no other reason."

"You shall follow, my dear Carson, because I have said you shall do so."

"Indeed, Milady. I am your humble servant. Do with me as you will – as you _must_."

The spectre swept them away in a swirl of mist, and when the mist cleared, Carson saw the Bates cottage once again. The Bates children were a year or two older now, and Carson was surprised to see them playing a game with Mrs Crawley in the parlour. The apparition then led Carson into their parents' bedroom, where Mr Bates lay in bed, Mrs Bates at his side. His pyjama trouser leg was pushed up above his knee, and Dr Clarkson was examining the former batman's old war wound. His leg looked red and swollen.

"I'm sorry, Mr Bates, but spending long hours on your feet only serves to aggravate the wound. The shrapnel shifts and irritates the tissue," the doctor informed him. "I'm afraid that if you keep working as you have done, your knee will continue to worsen, and soon you'll not be able to walk at all."

Mrs Bates sobbed quietly upon hearing the dire news, and her husband's face twisted into a pained look.

"But I can't stop working!" Mr Bates cried. "I've a family to support!"

"Have you considered other types of employment?" the doctor asked, trying to be helpful.

"It's not likely I'll find another position, given my condition – certainly not a more sedentary one, at any rate."

"Would you like for me to talk to Mr Carson about reducing your work a bit?"

"You're a brave man, Dr Clarkson, and I appreciate the kind offer, but no, thank you. I wouldn't wish that on anyone! Nor would you be likely to succeed. Mr Carson would sooner sack me than lighten my load."

Carson felt a stab of pain in his heart at the truth behind the statement and the conviction with which it had been uttered.

"Lord Grantham, then? I could speak to him instead."

Mr Bates just shook his head.

"He would feel obligated to make concessions, to treat me preferentially, or worse yet, to continue to pay my wages for a job I couldn't do. My pride could never endure his pity."

"I could ask Mrs Crawley to speak with Lady Grantham, though I'm not sure it would do much good. The two rarely see eye to eye."

"Thank you, Doctor. Mrs Bates and I will have to discuss the matter. Perhaps we can think of something."

"Very well," Dr Clarkson responded. "I'll just go and collect my assistant, and we'll be on our way." Then he smiled knowingly and added, "I suspect I'll have to drag her away bodily from your charming little brood."

Mrs Bates stood to walk him out, but he protested, saying, "Mrs Crawley and I can see ourselves off. Stay with your husband."

She nodded, sat back down, and replied, "Thank you for your visit, Dr Clarkson."

After the doctor had left the room, Mrs Bates sat on the bed and collapsed, crying, into her husband's arms.

"Oh, John!" she cried. "What are we going to do?"

"I'm not sure, Anna. I don't know yet. But I won't give up. I _will_ take care of you and the children."

As the couple held each other, offering one another what comfort they could, neither seemed convinced, and Carson knew that it was not within the valet's power to honour the commitment he had just made.

"Come, Carson," called the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come. "We've a great deal yet to see, and time runs short."

The phantom transported them back to the servants' hall at Downton Abbey. Though Carson knew it must be Christmas, the room was decorated very sparsely for the holiday. Mr Molesley sat alone in one of the chairs, looking positively miserable. Miss Baxter entered, and though he brightened noticeably upon seeing her, he still looked glum.

"Oh, Mr Molesley, I'm glad I've found you," said the lady's maid sympathetically, taking the seat next to him. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about your father. You have my condolences. If there's something I can do, you need only ask."

"Thank you, Miss Baxter. That's very kind."

"I wanted to go to the funeral, you know, and Mrs Hughes would have let me go, but Mr Carson insisted I couldn't be spared for the whole morning."

"I'm surprised he gave _me_ the morning to attend the service!" Mr Molesley returned, bitterly.

"Were you able to spend much time with your father during his illness - before he passed away?"

"Not nearly as much as I would have liked. Every time I asked for an hour or two off to visit him, Mr Carson found more work for me to do! I wasn't even with my Dad when he died."

"I'm sorry," said Miss Baxter gently. She reached out a compassionate hand and was going to place it on top of Mr Molesley's, but just then, Mr Carson stormed into the room.

"Are you two still down here at this hour?!" he bellowed. "This is no time for idle chat! Go upstairs to bed staightaway, both of you!"

Both jumped up simultaneously and said, "Yes, Mr Carson."

The angry butler stomped off to his pantry as soon as he assured himself that the couple were making their way toward the stairs. They walked in silence until they reached the place where they would have to part ways.

"Good night, Mr Molesley," said Miss Baxter. "And Merry Christmas - in keeping with the situation."

"Merry Christmas, Miss Baxter - in keeping with the situation," Mr Molesley answered with a mirthless chuckle and a sad smile. "Good night."

And with that, the image faded.

"Turn and see another Christmas," commanded the phantom.

Carson examined his surroundings to find that he was once again the servants' hall. Certainly, the room was meagrely adorned in the last scene, but in this one it was not ornamented _at all_.

The servants sat around the table very sombrely. Those Carson recognised looked several years older, and a few of the faces were entirely new to him. They looked subdued, and when they talked, they spoke in hushed tones. Some were doing mending, others were polishing or repairing this or that, still others reading, and a few just drinking tea. Carson overheard snippets of their conversations.

"You know, I almost wish Mr Carson were still here. At least he let us put up a few decorations, sing one or two carols, and stay up a bit later."

"Oh, yes. This one makes the Old Man look like Father Christmas!"

"Well, I suppose we could have expected as much. Mr Barrow _did_ train under Mr Carson and has even _improved_ upon his 'methods.' At some point, the pupil surpasses his teacher."

"If only Mrs Hughes were still here, she would temper him at his worst. But in the end, I guess it was all too much for her. I understand why she left. She was never the same after - "

Just then, Mr Barrow came blustering into the servants' hall with fire in his eyes.

"All right, you lot! Be off with you now. We'll need to be up extra early tomorrow to be sure that everything is perfect," he said.

"But Mr Barrow," ventured a brave (or foolish) young hall boy, "everything's already in order."

"Nothing's in order until I say it is!" snapped Mr Barrow. "And just for that, I'll expect you down here half an hour earlier tomorrow to polish the doorknobs. Now all of you, off too bed! Don't make me say it again."

As the servants scurried away in fear, the scene once again became hazy.

"And I thought _you_ were a heartless taskmaster!" observed the Ghost with raised eyebrows. "Oh, Carson! Look what you've done! Your successor makes _you_ look almost kind!"

"Please, Milady, tell me! Are these the visions of things that _must_ be, or things that _might_ be? Can they yet be altered?"

"I cannot say. I can say only that I am not in the habit of wasting my time. I've shown you these things for a reason. You've been privileged to see things you've no right to see, to hear things you otherwise would never have heard. You must determine the most prudent course of action, based on what you now know. We have but one final place to visit before our journey ends. Prepare yourself, Carson. This will be your most difficult encounter yet."

Carson took a deep breath and steeled himself.

"I am ready, Milady."

Seconds later, Carson found himself standing in the Downton church graveyard. Obviously, Christmas services had just ended in the church, and a few stragglers remained, talking cheerfully on the steps. A lone figure stood over a nearby grave. Though she was far away, and he saw her only from the back, Carson knew her immediately. She held something in her hand and brought it to her face briefly before bending to place it on the ground near the grave marker. She took what Carson guessed to be a handkerchief from her coat pocket and wiped her eyes and nose with it. Then she walked away on the path to the village.

The Spirit moved closer to the grave and bade Carson to approach. Trembling, he drew nearer. He could now see clearly both the object on the ground and the name on the grave marker. A small sprig of mistletoe lay atop the grave marked "Charles Carson." At this revelation, Carson's breathing was laboured, his heart strained, his legs buckled, and he slumped to the ground.

"No!" cried Carson. "Milady, tell me that it is not too late! That I may yet make amends! That I am not beyond hope!"

But she answered him not, only returned him to his own bedroom and left him lying in bed, clutching his blankets.

**A/N I know that the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come isn't supposed to speak, but since I chose the Dowager to play the part, I couldn't for the life of me keep her silent!**

**Please let me know what you think. Leave a review, and I'll send you a really nice thank-you PM. Deal?**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N Well, the after-Christmas sale continues, and this has certainly gotten way out of hand. I began writing a happy little Christmas fic and ended up writing half a book. Seriously, this little story is now **_**half as long as Dickens's book!**_** I've never invested myself so heavily in or become so attached to anything else I've written. But now we've come to "The End of It," and I don't know whether to laugh or cry.**

**Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story here on and everyone who reblogged, replied, and liked it on tumblr. Your support has made writing this so much more gratifying! I can't even express the full extent of my appreciation. I can only say, "God Bless You, Every One!"**

CHAPTER 5: THE END OF IT

Carson lay in his bed, wringing his blanket mercilessly between his fingers. He was unsure if he were awake, asleep, or in some other, surreal state. He knew not if he should feel frightened or confident, miserable or hopeful, dreadful or joyful. He took stock for a moment and tried to assess the situation to determine exactly what had happened and how best to proceed. After some deliberation, Carson concluded that something significant had indeed occurred. Exactly _what_ had transpired and _how_ it had happened were hardly relevant. The only thing that mattered was his firm resolution to be a better man.

He leapt out of bed and crossed the room to his bureau, where he checked the time on his pocket watch. It was nearly time for him to get ready and go downstairs. He went to the bathroom, completed his morning ablutions, returned to his room, and dressed, all the while humming and singing. Then he hurried downstairs, ready to embrace his reformation.

It was still early, so only the kitchen staff and Mrs Hughes were up and about. The first waking soul he encountered was the hapless Daisy.

"Daisy, Daisy!" he cried. "I know this will sound ridiculous to you, but humour me … please. Can you confirm for me what day this is?"

"Mr Carson? Are you feeling all right this morning? You're not looking usual yourself," Daisy said to him.

"What a bright girl!" he exclaimed joyfully. "That's because I'm _not_ usual myself, Daisy. But will you please just tell me what day it is?"

"Why, Mr Carson, it's Christmas Day, of course! The twenty-fifth of December. Do you really not know?"

"Yes, yes. Of course, I know. I just needed to be sure I hadn't missed it. Thank you, Daisy, my girl."

Carson grasped her by the shoulders, pressed a fatherly kiss to her forehead, and smiling gently, said, "Merry Christmas!" Then he proceeded to the kitchen, leaving the dear girl thoroughly perplexed.

In the kitchen, he found Mrs Patmore and Ivy.

"Ah. Good morning, Mrs Patmore, Ivy," he greeted them. "And a Merry Christmas to you both!"

The cook and kitchen maid looked at each other in puzzlement at the butler's uncharacteristic demeanour.

"Can I help you, Mr Carson?" asked Mrs Patmore.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you can. May I have a word with you? It will take only a moment."

"Certainly." She followed him into the corridor.

"Mrs Patmore," he began. "I don't want you and the girls to have to spend all day on Christmas working in the kitchen. I'm sure the family's meals for the day are mostly taken care of already, but do you suppose that you could put together something for the servants' meals from what you have in the store cupboard or the larder? Things that might be already made or require little preparation? It need not be elaborate, but do you think you could do that?"

"I believe I could try," replied Mrs Patmore somewhat sceptically.

"Very good! Then I'll expect you and the rest of the kitchen staff to join us later in the servants' hall. I'll have some of the hall boys set up extra chairs and tables. It will be a tight squeeze, but we'll manage."

"All right, then," said the cook.

"Thank you Mrs Patmore. You're a treasure. And, if may I say so, you're looking especially lovely this morning! All the young lads will be queuing up to dance with you later!"

He grasped her by the shoulders, as he had done Daisy, and placed a friendly, exuberant kiss on her cheek before departing. Mrs Patmore returned to the kitchen, shaking her head and muttering, "Cheeky devil!" Then a thought struck her.

"Ivy," she said, "do me a favour. Go and check to see that none of the eggnog is missing!"

Carson's next task was one that made him nervous. His earlier optimism had now abandoned him. He knocked on Mrs Hughes's sitting room door and entered when she invited him in.

"Good morning, Mrs Hughes," he said timidly, "and Merry Christmas."

For a moment, she merely sat silently at her desk, taken aback by his greeting.

"Well, thank you," she answered when she had gathered herself enough to respond. "A Merry Christmas to you, too, Mr Carson."

"I trust you had a good night and you're feeling well today?"

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," she replied dubiously. "And you?"

"Never better, Mrs Hughes. Never better."

He stood for some time, staring uncomfortably at his shoes.

"Was there something you needed, Mr Carson?" Mrs Hughes prompted. "Some reason you came to see me?"

"Ah. Yes," he said, his eyes still fixed on his shoes. "I wonder if you'll allow me to escort you to services this morning," he offered sheepishly.

"You mean you're planning on going to church with us?" she asked in utter astonishment.

"That is my intention, yes," he answered simply.

"But you never attend services! You always remain behind to prepare for the family's luncheon and the afternoon's activities."

"Nevertheless, I wish to go today. Will you walk with me? Please?" Carson implored hopefully.

"Well, yes, I suppose I could do that," she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Wonderful!" he cried, clasping his hands in front of him and grinning in obvious relief. "Thank you, Mrs Hughes. I'll come to collect you when it's time to leave."

When the servants assembled to walk to church, they were amazed to see Carson joining them. He offered Mrs Hughes his arm, which she took cautiously. Conversation on the way to services was subdued, likely due to Carson's presence, but it was not unpleasant. Carson and Mrs Hughes walked a little apart from the rest of the group, making light conversation and occasionally looking at each other self-consciously.

During the service, Carson responded to the prayers and sang the hymns and carols enthusiastically, earning him questioning looks from all those around him. He didn't care in the least. Afterward, he remained kneeling in silent prayer for a while before joining the others outside. When he walked down the church steps, people stopped talking and stared at him, and he could tell that he was the topic of conversation among most of the gathered groups. He simply wished them a hearty "Merry Christmas!" and moved on.

He first approached Mr Molesley, who was in conversation with Miss Baxter.

"Pardon my intrusion," he apologized. "Hello, Mr Molesley. Merry Christmas!"

"M-m-merry Christmas," stammered the poor man, who looked positively petrified.

"And how is your father?"

"A bit better today, thank you. Not well enough to come to church, but he's up and about and in good spirits."

"Well, that is good news. Mr Molesley, about tomorrow … "

"Yes, I know, Mr Carson. I'll be there bright and early," Mr Molesley promised.

"No, Mr Molesley, you won't. I don't want to see you at the house at all tomorrow."

"I-I-I'm sorry, Mr Carson. I don't understand. Have I been sacked, then?"

"No, no. Nothing like that," Carson chuckled. "I'd like you to have the day off to spend with your father – if you find it agreeable."

"But I thought you said I couldn't be spared."

"I'll see to your duties myself. Don't give it another thought."

"Well, thank you, Mr Carson. That's very kind."

"And perhaps I'll ask Mrs Patmore to prepare a hamper of leftovers for you and have someone from the house bring it to you later on." Turning to Miss Baxter, he asked, "Miss Baxter, after Her Ladyship has changed, will you be free to - "

"I'd be delighted!" she answered without waiting for the rest of the question.

Carson turned to Mr Molesley and shook his hand, saying, "Please wish your father a Merry Christmas for me and give him my best."

"I will, Mr Carson. Thank you."

As Carson walked away, Miss Baxter smiled broadly, and Mr Molesley wore a look of complete incomprehension.

Next, Carson found Mr and Mrs Bates talking with Mrs Hughes while the assorted little Bateses scampered about happily.

"Good morning, Mrs Bates, Mr Bates," he said as he neared the group. "And a Merry Christmas to you both!" he added jovially.

"Merry Christmas, Mr Carson," they both answered warily.

"Mr Bates, I wonder if I might have a word with you," Carson requested.

"Certainly, Mr Carson," the valet answered, looking worried.

The two men stepped away from the women.

"Mr Bates, I've not told anyone this yet, but I'm sure I can trust you to keep a confidence. I'm considering retiring soon, and I wonder if you might fancy a promotion."

"I don't understand. I could never be butler with my bad leg. I can't carry things or wait at table … "

"Not butler, you see. I have a different idea. I haven't spoken with His Lordship yet, but I don't imagine he'll object. I was thinking that you could be appointed house steward."

"House steward?" questioned Mr Bates.

"It would be a bit unusual, I admit. The position is not in wide use, but it would be ideal for you. Your responsibilities would be more managerial … administrative, so to speak. You would be responsible for the household accounts, all the books, dealing with the merchants, and planning daily activities and organising major events. It would mean less time spent on your feet and more regular hours. It will be better for your leg, and you'll be able to spend more time with your family. Mr Barrow will handle greeting the guests, laying the table, serving, clearing away, and polishing the silver. I wouldn't trust him with the other responsibilities. So what do you say, Mr Bates? Does that prospect appeal to you at all?"

"It does, Mr Carson. Very much. Thank you."

"Good. Very good. We can discuss this further after I've spoken with His Lordship, but right now, I've no wish to keep you from your family any longer."

Carson and Mr Bates returned to the women, and the four said their goodbyes. The rest of the chatting groups broke up as well, and the servants reconvened and began to walk back to the house, with Mrs Hughes once again on Carson's arm.

Mrs Patmore, who was holding onto Daisy's arm, brazenly called out, "Mrs Hughes, you'd better hold onto Mr Carson's arm tightly. The ice is _very treacherous_ this morning!"

Back at the house, Carson was a man possessed. He ran himself ragged, appropriating to himself as many of the other servants' duties as he could possibly carry out. He did the work of ten men. His objective was to allow the rest of the staff to enjoy their holiday to the full, and he was very successful in achieving his purpose.

At one point during the afternoon, he called Mrs Hughes on the side.

"Mrs Hughes, I wonder if I might prevail upon your good nature for some assistance in a certain matter. You see, I'm hoping to revive an old tradition … "

That evening, Lord and Lady Grantham, the Dowager Countess, Lady Mary, Lady Edith, and Mr Branson sat in the drawing room while Miss Sybbie and Master George amused themselves on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Mrs Hughes came to the door and announced, "I beg your pardon, Milord, but there's a gentleman here to see you. He says it's urgent."

"Of course, Mrs Hughes," replied the Earl, confusion evident in his features. "But where is Carson?"

"Mr Carson is otherwise engaged at the moment. He sends his apologies and asked me to bring your guest to you."

"Well, then, by all means, do show him in!"

"As you wish, Milord."

Mrs Hughes disappeared out the door briefly and returned to announce, "Father Christmas, Milord."

And into the room strode Carson, wearing a white wig and beard, and a long, hooded, crimson robe with white fur trim; he carried a matching sack over his shoulder. It would be difficult to say whose faces showed more astonishment – the children's or the adults'. Carson stood himself on the rug by the fire between the two tots, who pulled on his legs and reached up to him excitedly. He put down his sack. After looking to His Lordship for permission and receiving an acknowledging nod, he picked the children up, one in each arm, sat down in an armchair, and perched them on his lap. He bounced them on his knees and enthralled them with his stories. Then he pulled from his sack a beautiful little doll for Miss Sybbie and a bright wooden locomotive engine for Master George.

After he bade everyone goodbye and wished the family a robust Merry Christmas, Lady Mary pulled him aside and said, "Thank you, Father Christmas. You always did know exactly what we needed." She tried to kiss his cheek, but succeeded only in acquiring a faceful of unruly beard, causing them both to laugh.

Carson joined Mrs Hughes, who had been watching from the doorway. As they walked back downstairs, she said to him, "We had a difficult enough time finding that old costume. Where on earth did you find the doll and the train?"

"I've told you. You can find all sorts of unexpected things in the attics of Downton."

"Well, you were marvellous. I'm sure the children really believed in you. You were very convincing."

"And what about you, Mrs Hughes? Can I ever convince _you_ to believe in me again?"

"I've never stopped, Mr Carson."

Just then, they arrived back at the servants' hall. The festivities had already begun. When the revellers noticed Carson still wearing his costume, the singing and dancing stopped, and everyone stared with wide eyes and open mouths.

He only eyed them seriously and said, "What's the matter with you lot? Have you never seen Father Christmas before? Show some respect, or you shall find nothing but coal in your stockings next year! Carry on, then!"

And with that, he retreated into his pantry to transform himself back into a butler.

"Sweet Baby Jesus in the Manger! What was _that_?!" asked Mrs Patmore, who then looked down suspiciously at the cup of eggnog she was holding.

"I'll tell you all about it sometime over a nice glass of something," answered Mrs Hughes, who hurried off toward her sitting room barely suppressing a fit of giggles.

Finally having won the battle against her attack of hysterics, Mrs Hughes her at her desk, smiling. Her sitting room door stood open, inviting the sounds of merrymaking to float pleasantly inside. As she listened to the strains of music and laughter, Carson came to her door.

"Mrs Hughes, I'm going to join the celebration now. Would you care to accompany me?" he asked her.

"I thought you'd never ask!" she replied, jumping up to join him.

The two joined the others in the servants' hall, and Mrs Patmore immediately settled them into their usual seats. She brought each a cup of eggnog and a plate of sweets and sat talking with them.

After they had eaten and drunk, Carson stood and called out over the raucous music, "James, I would like to attempt a dance, but what you're currently playing is far too animated for me. Can you play something – anything at all – that might be more suitable for an old man who's woefully out of practice and who's nearly forgotten how to dance?"

The young man obliged him with a slow waltz.

"Yes. That's much better!" Carson approved.

Carson turned to Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes and said very graciously, "Ladies, I'm hoping to dance with the two loveliest women in all of His Majesty's wide realm. Who will indulge me first?"

"Ooooh, I will!" cried Mrs Patmore, leaping up and taking Carson's offered hand. Turning to Mrs Hughes, she commented, "That's the second time today he's called me lovely!"

Both women grinned, and Mrs Hughes couldn't help but be moved by both her friends' unbridled joy. Carson twirled Mrs Patmore around the dance floor – really just a small open area in the corner of the room – with such energy that the younger lot were amazed. Mrs Patmore herself was surprised that she was able to keep up with him, but his ebullience was infectious. When eventually the song ended, Carson gallantly kissed Mrs Patmore's hand and deposited her gently back in her seat. Then he called, "Another please, James!" and pulled Mrs Hughes from her chair to repeat the process. It's true he held her a bit closer, gazed in her eyes a little more fondly, and smiled at her a tad more eagerly than he had Mrs Patmore; he tried not to be obvious, but holding her in his arms again after so many years had its effect on him.

The young folk watched in delight, never having seen their butler in anything like this state, nor their cook and housekeeper so blissfully relaxed.

At one point, Daisy pointed to Mr Carson, who was in the corner teaching one of the hall boys to juggle lemons, leaned over to Alfred, and said smugly, "See? I told you! Do you believe it now?"

After the dancing, some of the merrymakers were getting sleepy, but Carson insisted on singing carols. James played the piano, and the assembly sang until nearly everyone was hoarse. Finally, the maids and footmen practically pleaded to be dismissed and allowed to climb into their warm, inviting beds, and the festive gathering dispersed.

Carson asked Mrs Hughes to remain behind, saying he wished to speak with her. When they were alone, he said to her, "Mrs Hughes, what I have to say will be best said elsewhere. Will you be kind enough to join me for a short walk outside?"

"Certainly, Mr Carson. I'd like that very much," she assured him, smiling kindly.

"Splendid!" he beamed. "I'll get our coats."

Soon they were walking arm in arm across the lawns of Downton under a bright moon. They walked in silence, and Carson steered them toward the pond. He stopped when they stood in that fateful spot where their hearts had been offered, accepted, and later, broken. He hoped that tonight, they could be mended. He took her hands in his and turned to face her.

"Can you forgive a pig-headed old fool for having no eyes to see with, nor ears to hear with, all these years?" he pleaded in all humility.

She caressed her face tenderly, "Yes, you dear, sweet man. You've made me so happy today!"

"You've always believed. Haven't you, Mrs Hughes? You've never given up hope," Carson marvelled.

"No man is beyond hope, Mr Carson," replied Mrs Hughes sincerely.

"I don't want to be Mr Carson anymore. I want to be Charlie again – _your_ Charlie. I want to leave here with you. We can open that shop or just enjoy our retirement in a nice, little cottage – whatever you'd like. I've enough saved for us both to live comfortably. I don't care where we are or what we're doing, as long as we're together."

Carson dropped slowly to one knee, pulled something from his pocket, and said, "Elsie … Will you marry this foolish old man, who needs you more than he can bear to say … who loves you, even though he hardly knows how?"

Mrs Hughes sobbed and choked out a feeble, "Yes."

He placed on her finger the very same ring he had given her all those years ago. It still fit perfectly. He rose and embraced her.

Recognising the ring instantly, she commented, "You've never given up hope, either! Oh, Charlie, I've missed you terribly!"

They stood holding each other until the cold compelled them to return to the house.

Once inside, they found themselves drawn to certain doorway where a clipping of a particular plant hung prominently.

"You're so beautiful, Elsie!" he repeated the words from years ago. "Just one kiss. Please? I promise I'll be a gentleman."

She remembered the words, too: "Very well, then. You may kiss me." And he did – with great vigour.

As they stood lost in each other, Carson thought he heard something, but it could have been his imagination. He thought he heard the bells from the servants' hall begin to ring again. It wasn't the harsh, discordant sound that had haunted him the previous night. No, this time it was a soft melody that sounded like "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen." The tune itself, being in a minor key, was not especially hopeful, but Carson was greatly heartened when he thought of the words he had sung in church just that morning:

_God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay;_

_Remember Christ our Saviour was born on Christmas day_

_To save us all from Satan's pow'r when we were gone astray._

_O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy;_

_O tidings of comfort and joy!_

No man had gone farther astray than Carson, and even to _him_ were brought tidings of comfort and joy; even _he_ would be saved from the fate and the chains which had been threatened. Comfort and joy, indeed!

**A/N The proposal is for Chelsie Dagger, who will recognize the words a hybrid between the scene in **_**Scrooge**_** (the 1951 film version of **_**A Christmas Carol**_** with Alistair Sim which I can't recommend highly enough!) in which Scrooge asks for forgiveness from his niece-in-law, and the proposal scene in **_**Shadowlands**_**. The kiss is for MrsDickens713 who Seriously. Resolutely. Did. Not. Ask for it. (I guess this became a mistletoe fic, after all!) And the bells are for evitamockingbird.**

**Many thanks to Chelsie Dagger for allowing me to use her "House Steward" idea for Mr. Bates. I borrowed it from her story, "Moving On." If you haven't read it, go do that right now!**

**As I mentioned in my note at the beginning of this chapter, this particular story is near and dear to my heart. You would make me very, very happy if you left me a review. If you've enjoyed this, even just a little, please let me know that. If you've posted something of your own before, you know how much the reviews mean. If you've never posted a story before, then please believe me when I tell you how important the feedback is to writers. I'm very grateful when you share your thoughts. God Bless You, Every One!**


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